Neighbors
by Teobi
Summary: Following reports of neighbors fighting in the suburbs, rookie reporter Billie Newman goes to investigate.
1. Chapter 1

The absolute best thing about the internet is rediscovering old shows that you used to love. In this case, ' **Lou Grant** ', the spin off from the Mary Tyler Moore Show, starring Ed Asner, Robert Walden and Linda Kelsey. It's about the city newsroom of the fictional Los Angeles Tribune and ran from 1977 to 1982 when it was cancelled for ridiculous reasons, as many great shows are. Anyway I've been watching episodes on YT, saw that there was no ffnet category for it, so I requested one. Shout-out to the people at ffnet for creating the Lou Grant category.

I'm no reporter. And Lou Grant had some of the best writers in the business. So I'm starting out with what I think is a pretty simple story focusing on character interaction rather than the logistics of newspapers in the 70s, BC (before computers.) I am always open to suggestions and advice from fans of LG who know the show better than I do. Thanks loads!

(PS: I'm British but I'm using American spelling because the show was American and so is my spellchecker)

* * *

 **Neighbors**

 **Chapter 1**

Billie Newman entered the news room, stifling a yawn. She dodged around her fellow reporters with her coffee held high, hoping to reach her desk without anything more than a brisk 'good morning' over the clattering typewriters and ringing telephones. She was still a rookie at the Tribune and didn't want anyone thinking she couldn't handle the pace. It wasn't that she couldn't handle the pace, it was more that she just had to _get used to_ the pace. Which she would.

Eventually.

Just maybe not _right now._

She arrived at her desk and put down her coffee cup, draped her jacket over her chair and dumped her purse haphazardly next to her phone. Without even glancing at the person working opposite, she sank into her seat, pulled it forward, and began organizing her notes and papers. So far, so good.

Her phone rang. she glanced at it briefly, saw whose extension had lit up, and answered it with a mixture of relief and exasperation.

"Good morning, Lou."

"Good morning, Billie!" City editor Lou Grant's voice was gruff as ever, with a dry hint of good natured sarcasm. "Everything okay?"

Cradling the handset between chin and shoulder, Billie continued to riffle through her notes. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason. I was just checking in."

"Lou, you don't just 'check in'. You're checking _up_."

"I am not!" He sounded indignant- Billie smiled to herself. "I'm just making sure my favorite new reporter is doing okay, that's all."

"I'm fine, Lou. Really. You don't have to treat me any differently to anyone else just because I'm new."

"Make the most of it, Billie. Soon I'll be yelling at you the same way I yell at Rossi."

"You certainly know how to motivate a person." The unmistakable sound of someone loudly clearing their throat made her turn around. "Excuse me a moment, Lou." She scowled at Joe Rossi, the Tribune's resident pitbull terrier. "What did you say, Joe?"

The dark haired man grinned at her. "I said, in the interests of equality, he should _already_ be yelling at you the way he yells at me."

"How do you know what he said?" Billie asked, shooting daggers with her eyes.

"I can hear him from here. I don't even know why's he's bothering to use the phone."

Billie sighed loudly. "Goodbye Lou," she grumbled, and hung up.

"Why so cranky?" Rossi asked. "Or should that be, why more cranky than usual?"

"I'm not cranky," Billie said, crankily. "I'm just tired, that's all."

Damn. But there it was, she'd said it. She glared at Rossi and resolved to keep her cards closer to her chest. He didn't need any more ammunition than he already possessed. Although to be honest, the fact that she was a woman was all the ammo he seemed to need.

She slipped a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter and fed it through, but Rossi wasn't one to give up easily.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"That's none of your business."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."

"Really? You take 'none of your business' as a 'yes'? That explains why so many of your pieces have to be rewritten."

Rossi sat up straight with a puff of indignation. "Boy, you try to be friendly..."

"Oh, is that what you were doing? That also explains why you don't have any friends."

"Jeez!" Rossi exclaimed, rubbing his upper arms. "I think the temperature in here just dropped by ten degrees!"

Billie slapped her palms down on either side of her typewriter. "Look, Rossi. I know you get a thrill out of tormenting me, but today I just want to do my job without the distraction of a verbal fencing contest. Okay? Is it too much to ask?"

Rossi sat back with what Billie could only describe as an air of triumph. "Sure," he said calmly, which only annoyed her more. "I know you need to concentrate. I know it's hard for you to work with other things going on around you. I guess it was a lot quieter at the magazine. Probably just a few old ladies drinking tea. I can understand why you would..."

" _Rossiii_...!" Billie resisted the urge to pick up her telephone and throw it at him.

"Okay, okay! Don't get excited. I got work to do anyway." Rossi spun his chair around and went back to his notepad. "Real work," he added, indicating pages and pages of scrawled, messy shorthand. "Read it and weep, Newman."

"If I could read that, I would weep."

"Yeah, well it may not look like much now, but you just wait til it's printed. It'll knock your socks off."

"I don't wear socks." Billie began typing, hoping it would shut him up.

"Your shoes then. Or whatever you call those things on your feet."

Billie mistyped half a sentence, but kept going. Maybe it would have helped if she was actually interested in her report. A woman named JoBeth Granger was claiming her neighbor, a Mr. George Braddock, was making her life hell. She said he threw trash bags over the fence and stared at her when she was in her yard. Billie had been out to interview her twice already, and everything had been quiet- just a normal day in the suburbs. But JoBeth was insistent. She wanted something done about it, because the police weren't taking her seriously. Billie had seen nothing untoward in her yard except for a rather docile looking dog sleeping in the sun.

Rossi's phone rang. He picked it up and began talking loud enough for Billie to hear. She knew he worked on more important assignments than she did. She knew he had worked at the Trib much longer than she had. She knew, although she hated to admit it, that he was a good reporter. But he was so smug and full of himself that instead of being able to ask him for help or advice, she guarded her work against him, felt compelled to type faster and be more pushy on the phone. Maybe that's why she was tired- trying to keep up with Rossi was sapping her energy.

She took her fingers off the keys, closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax. She breathed deeply, lulled by the sounds of the newsroom; the comforting hubbub of voices, typewriters and phones. She wasn't even aware that Rossi had ended his phonecall until a candy bar landed in front of her and slid into a sheaf of notes, scattering them across her desk. She jerked upright with a yelp.

"Dammit, Rossi!"

Rossi laughed at her startled expression. "You need a sugar hit."

Billie picked up the Snickers, peering at it as though it were laced with poison.

"I don't think you understand the significance of me giving away a candy bar," he said, looking mildly insulted.

"Thank you Joe." She opened her desk drawer and dropped it in. "I'll save it for lunch. It was nice of you to think of me."

"Don't mention it," he replied airily. Then, "you still working on that neighborhood feud story?"

"Yep," she said, wishing more than ever that Lou would send him on a one way mission to Mars. But she wouldn't subject the Martians to such a punishment- unless they were hostile.

"Got anything juicy?"

Billie picked up her notes and read aloud. "'JoBeth Granger went out early Thursday morning to feed her dog and found two trash bags which she says were thrown there by her neighbor. "The bags were open. There was rotten garbage everywhere and it smelled terrible," said Ms. Granger, 35. "I've reported him to the police but they say they need more evidence. I'm tired of waking up every day not knowing what he's going to do next.'" Billie finished reading and put the notes down. "Juicy enough?"

"Not even close. Jazz it up a little. You know, like the Hatfields and the McCoys."

"The Hatfields and the McCoys? I hate to tell you this, pardner, but it's 1977, not 1877."

"Trust me- you have to write every story, no matter how insignificant, as though you're aiming for the Pulitzer Prize."

Billie tried to ignore the 'insignificant' comment, but it rankled.

"Like me," he concluded.

Billie stared at him incredulously. "Do you seriously think you're going to win the Pulitzer Prize?"

Rossi shrugged. "it's not out of the question- I'm good at my job." He leaned forward, ready to impart some invaluable advice. "Look, Billie. You have to give the readers what they want. A guy with a dead-end job needs to feel superior to someone. He may flip burgers all day but at least he doesn't have a stinking pile of someone else's trash in his yard."

Billie frowned and pursed her lips. "Hmm," she murmured. Maybe he had a point.

Rossi stood up and pulled on his brown corduroy jacket. "Well, gotta go."

"Goodbye," said Billie sarcastically.

"Don't you want to know where?"

"No."

"Well, I'll tell you anyway. I'm going out to interview a local businessman. He's seventy years old and thinks that someone on the payroll is stealing from him. I wish we could exchange assignments. I'd have your people tearing each others' throats out in time for the late edition. There'd be blood all over the streets- hopefully none of it mine."

"Cold, Rossi. Very cold."

"You'll learn."

Watching Rossi collect his notepads and briefcase, Billie had to admit that her story lacked _oomph_ \- but she didn't know how to whip up enthusiasm for an account of grown adults fighting like children. To be truthful, it depressed her. Society was starting to sink pretty low.

"See you later," said Rossi, and strode off without even waiting for a response.

"Don't hurry back," murmured Billie, watching him swing his briefcase down the corridor, making other reporters jump out of his way.

As soon as Rossi was gone, Billie yanked the paper out of her typewriter, crumpled it up and dropped it in the waste basket. She wound a fresh, unmarked sheet around the carriage, found JoBeth Granger's phone number and put it beside the phone. She took the candy bar out of her drawer, unwrapped it, and bit off a huge chunk. Immediately she regretted it- it was hard and chewy and full of nuts that stuck in her teeth. She gnawed frantically, trying to unglue her mouth before Lou showed up, or...

The telephone shrilled.

... the telephone rang.

She chewed furiously, flapping her hands around as though it would make the candy dissolve faster. She reached for the phone, unsure how she was going to answer it when she couldn't speak, but right at the last minute a hand came over her shoulder and picked it up for her. She looked up to see assistant editor Art Donovan standing there, an amused look on his face.

"Billie Newman," he said into the receiver, then laughed. "No, no... this is her deputy. She's busy right now but she'll be with you in a second." He held the receiver towards Billie while she swallowed the last of the sticky mess inside her mouth. She took it from him, clamping her hand over the mouthpiece.

"What were you doing?" he asked, folding his arms.

"I was trying to get into Rossi's mindset."

"Why?" His voice rose several notches in disbelief.

"He said I needed to jazz my story up a little." Billie removed her hand and spoke to the person on the other end. "Hello, this is Billie Newman I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Oh! Hello Ms. Granger... are you okay? He's _what_? Did you call the police?" She looked up at Donovan, who was now frowning quizzically. "Okay, okay... I'm coming over. Stay calm and wait for the police, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can." Billie hung up and got to her feet, grabbing her purse and jacket. "JoBeth's neighbor is threatening to kill her with an axe."

Donovan's eyes widened. "You move fast!"

Billie wrote the address down hurriedly and gave it to Art. She thrust her arms into the sleeves of her jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I shouldn't be excited about this. Someone could get hurt."

"Don't think about it too hard. Take the Animal with you and make sure it isn't _you_ that gets hurt."

"That's what Rossi said. There'd be blood on the streets, but hopefully none would be his."

"Forget Rossi. Just go and get us a story."

Billie shot him a smile over her shoulder and hurried for the exit, her mind alert and buzzing, her body full of adrenaline. Exhaustion be damned- she wasn't a magazine writer anymore, she was a general reporter for one of the biggest newspapers in the country. _This_ was how it was meant to be, the cut and thrust world of city reporting.

She just hoped her new-found enthusiasm for this story didn't come at the expense of JoBeth Granger's life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Billie turned her VW Beetle into the residential area where JoBeth Granger lived. Already she and the Animal could see cop cars with their lights flashing halfway down the street. Curious residents collected in groups on the sidewalk; Animal started taking photos as Billie drove carefully along. "Look at them standing around," he mused. "Guess no one ever got hit with an axe before."

"Have you ever been hit with an axe?" Billie asked, scanning the front lawns for signs of a disturbance.

"No, and I don't intend to, either." People stared at Animal as the car drove past, unwittingly providing him with perfect pictures.

They reached the house and pulled over to the curb. Billie switched off the engine. "Everything looks quiet."

"You disappointed?"

"I don't know," she confessed.

"Just because it's quiet, doesn't mean it's good news. She could be lying in there in a pool of blood, brains splattered everywhere." Animal took a series of shots of the outside of JoBeth Granger's house, including the police cars.

"Oh God, I hope not."

They climbed out of the car. Billie hurried over to a nearby police officer while Animal loped away to take more pictures.

"Billie Newman, Los Angeles Tribune. Ms. Granger called me to tell me what happened. Is she okay? I mean, she's alive, right?"

The young cop nodded as Billie began taking notes. "The guy was back in his house by the time we arrived. Took us a while to calm her down, she was pretty hysterical."

"Did you speak to the neighbor? George Braddock?"

"Couple of the guys are over there talking to him now. He denies everything."

"I've been working on this story for a couple of days. Petty things like trash bags allegedly thrown over the fence, being stared at, that kind of thing."

The cop shot her a weary look. "In my experience, it's the little incidents that cause the trouble. They build up and up and up, and then one day, BOOM." He threw his hands up, miming an explosion.

Billie scribbled his words down. "Can I quote you?"

"Sure. Officer Greg Dunne's the name."

"I'll make sure you get a special mention." Billie pointed her pencil at him with a flirtatious smile. She looked around for the Animal and the two of them made their way to JoBeth's front door. An officer was leaving the house just as they got there and he let them in once they produced their IDs.

The hallway smelled musty, as though the windows hadn't been opened in years. A wooden staircase led up to a strangely foreboding second floor. There were a couple of potted plants that needed watering, and standard pictures of forest landscapes on the wall. The house was neither tidy nor untidy. There was nothing to make it memorable in any way.

"Feels neglected," Animal whispered. He ran his finger over a small table covered in unopened bills and examined the dust with a frown.

"Hello?" called Billie. "JoBeth? It's Billie Newman from the Tribune."

"In here," came a brittle voice from the back of the house.

They found JoBeth Granger pacing fretfully around the cluttered kitchen, tugging at her ponytail. A short-haired female cop who introduced herself as Officer Carol Nolan sat at the table. JoBeth was a thin, ordinary looking woman with dull hair coloring midway between blonde and brown, the dry texture of fine straw. She worked as a receptionist, but she had told Billie she was on leave (despite the threat of being fired), because of the stress George Braddock was causing her. Billie smiled in sympathy, expecting a rather different welcome than the one she received.

"Took you long enough to get here," JoBeth snapped, angrily.

Billie recoiled in surprise. "I'm sorry," she said. "There was traffic on the freeway."

"It didn't stop the cops."

"Because we're cops," said Nolan. "You know... flashing lights? Sirens?"

Billie collected herself. She pulled out a chair, wiped dust off the seat, and sat down at the table. She reached into her purse and took out her notepad. "I apologize for the delay. Let's not waste anymore time. Please tell me what happened."

"Well, I was in the yard with Gus- as you know, Gus is my dog, I was sweeping leaves and minding my own business, singing along to the radio, when that man comes over to the fence with his axe and said if I didn't shut up, he'd cut off my head."

"Did anyone see him?"

"No witnesses," said Nolan in a voice that was surprisingly deep for her petite frame.

"Really? But the street is full of people."

The officer smiled wryly. "It is _now._ "

Billie scribbled down some notes. "Nobody wants to get involved these days," she said sadly. "They don't want to know unless it's happening to them." She looked up with a gentle smile. "I shouldn't speculate. I'm here to get the facts."

"There's very little to go on," said Nolan. "We got a call about someone making threats. We got here and..." she shrugged. "Nothing. No sign of any trouble at all."

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen," JoBeth said, glowering at all three of them in turn.

"I understand that," said Billie, "and I'm also going to talk to Mr. Braddock, if it's okay with the police."

JoBeth looked startled. "Why do you need to talk to him?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"To get his side of the story," said Billie calmly.

"His side? He's a maniac, that's all you need to know!"

"I'm sorry," Billie said gently. "But I need facts, not assumptions."

JoBeth glared at Billie but didn't say anything more. Officer Nolan pursed her lips. "Sure. He let my colleagues in without any problems. In fact, he seemed quite genial."

"Doesn't sound like the actions of a maniac." Billie glanced at JoBeth, waiting for her reaction. When it came, it was loud and vehement.

"I swear on my dead mother's grave, that man was waving an axe at me!" JoBeth got to her feet, jabbing her finger at the kitchen window. "Right out there. Like some kind of crazy nut. And they won't arrest him!" She pulled a dish cloth off of the counter and started winding it around her hands. "Isn't anybody thinking of _me_?"

"Of course we are," said Billie. "But I'm a reporter. I have to find out exactly what happened."

"I told you what happened! I told the cops what happened! George goddamned Braddock threatened to kill me with an axe! The man is a lunatic! Put that in your goddamned notes!"

Nolan reached for JoBeth's arm. "Ms. Granger, please sit down. We know you're upset, but this isn't helping."

JoBeth flinched away from the cop's outstretched hand. "Damned right I'm upset! I thought you all were on my side, what with me being the _victim_ , but apparently not! Apparently you're all more concerned about George! Well, go talk to him! See if I care! He'll lie to you anyway!"

Billie closed her notebook and rose from her seat. "I'm sorry you feel that way," she said, while Animal fired off a couple of photos.

"You're not sorry about anything." JoBeth stared at Animal until he lowered his camera with a sheepish grin. "I can see how disappointed you are. You wish he was still out there putting on his show for you all, since none of you believe me. But hey! Don't worry! You'll get your story when I'm lying here with my skull split open! You probably won't even care about me then, either- but at least you'll have something to write about!"

"Look, Ms. Granger, you're in shock..."

"Go to hell," the woman snapped. "And take George Braddock with you."

Billie and Animal left the house without another word to JoBeth or the beleaguered cop. They stood outside on the driveway, breathing in lungfuls of oxygen and feeling the sun on their faces.

"I smell 'crazy', and it's not coming from there," said Animal, jerking his thumb towards George Braddock's house.

Billie ruffled her shoulder length red curls. "I think _I'd_ be upset if someone was making threats that no one else believed."

"Unfortunately, we can't just print one side of the story." Animal tinkered with his camera, his tone of voice suggesting he wanted nothing more than to get back to his beloved darkroom.

"I know." Billie squinted at the sky, tapping her chin with her pencil. "Come on- lets go talk to George. Find out what's _really_ going on."

oOoOoOo

"Wow," said Joe Rossi. "I know I told her to jazz up her story, but I didn't think she'd go _that_ far!"

Donovan grinned. "That's what I said. Although to be fair, events kind of jazzed themselves up."

The two of them were standing by Lou's desk, Rossi having completed his interview of the local businessman.

"She hasn't called since she went out there an hour ago," Lou fretted. "I hope everything's all right."

"Anyone phoned in a murder?" asked Rossi.

Lou glared up at him, bushy eyebrows drawing together over a pugnacious nose. "No," he drawled, emphatically.

"Then she's okay," Rossi asserted with a shrug.

Lou and Donovan exchanged a look. "He's all heart," said Lou.

"Thanks," said Rossi with a grin. "But do me a favor and don't tell anybody, okay? I have a reputation to maintain."

"You have my word," Lou said, sarcastically.

"Not jealous of Billie, are you Rossi?" asked Donovan, regarding the younger man's changing expression.

"Me? Jealous of a rookie? Why would I be jealous when I've got the story of the year? Old guy hires beautiful young secretary and then finds out she's ripped him off to the tune of three thousand bucks. I mean, it wins points on originality alone. Of course I'm not jealous. Why would I want to investigate an axe murder?"

"No one's been murdered!" Lou barked.

" _Potential_ axe murder," Rossi corrected. He looked at Donovan. "Usually it's guns- an axe makes it so much more interesting." He turned back to Lou, who was scowling fiercely. "Look, you want me to go out there and find Billie?"

"And make a bad situation worse?"

Rossi leaned over and patted Lou on the shoulder. "I understand. You don't want to lose your best reporter. Oh well, at least I offered."

Lou watched Rossi head back to his desk, a jaunty bounce in his walk. "It must be nice living in a world where nothing matters except yourself," he muttered.

"On the other hand, he doesn't let feelings get in the way of a good story," said Donovan. "Lou, don't worry about Billie. This is LA, things like this happen all the time. Congested traffic, crowded suburbs, the whole city is a powder keg waiting to blow."

"Thanks, Donovan, I feel a lot better now," said Lou, looking anything but.

oOoOoOo

" _She's_ the crazy one, not me!" George Braddock, sixty two years old, with thick white hair and age spots dotting his tanned and leathery skin, stalked around his tidy living room. His house was very different to JoBeth's. There were cheerful ornaments on the shelves and plump cushions on the furniture and the air smelled fresh and neutral. Billie and Animal perched on the flower patterned sofa, looking awkwardly at each other. "Every time I go outside, there she is, staring at me through the window like Morticia Addams. I'm a bag of nerves because of her. Why the hell would I want to kill anybody with an axe?"

"Do you even have an axe?" asked Animal. "I mean, we've heard so much about it, but neither of us have seen it."

Braddock stopped pacing. "You want me to get it? You want me to show you this axe that I supposedly threatened her with? Stay there, I'll be right back."

"Whoa, wait a minute," said Billie. "Perhaps we'd better come with you."

"Relax. I'm not a violent person." Braddock left the room, Billie and Animal followed anyway.

They went through Braddock's kitchen into the adjoining garage. There was a car parked inside; a big, brown and beige Pontiac station wagon. Animal whistled softly.

"That's a real family car," said Billie, impressed.

"Yeah, that's our Bessie. We never downgraded. She still runs like a dream."

"We?"

"My wife and I and our two children. Of course, they aren't children anymore. Thomas lives with his girlfriend in Burbank, Richard is traveling around with his friends somewhere, and my wife Joan is in the hospital having chemotherapy." A bitter tone crept into Braddock's voice. "I married late. Had children late. Joanie is fifteen years younger than me, and she's the one who gets sick. How about that."

Billie stopped jotting down notes. "I'm sorry. I mean, I hope it's nothing... " she trailed off, knowing how stupid she sounded.

"It's cancer," said George, abruptly. "Isn't that what chemotherapy is for?"

Billie fell silent. When Braddock turned his back, she scribbled down the words 'wife' 'cancer' and 'chemo', feeling vaguely dirty.

Braddock walked around the rear of the station wagon to some shelves on the opposite wall. "Here it is." He picked something up and walked back towards them. Animal moved closer to Billie, nudging her toward the door that led into kitchen. Both of them stifled the urge to laugh out loud when they saw the size of the implement in question. It was tiny.

Animal was unable to contain his relief. "That's not an axe!"

"That's right. It's a hatchet," said Braddock, offering the handle to Animal. "I was using it this morning to cut down some branches. And before you ask, yes, I showed it to the officers that were here. I've got nothing to hide."

Animal turned the small tool this way and that. "It's cute! It's like a little baby axe." He showed the tool to Billie, who smiled indulgently.

"Size isn't everything," she said. "A hatchet can still do damage. I assume everyone's heard of Lizzie Borden?"

Braddock ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay, look. I shook the hatchet at her, only because I had it in my hand at the time. She was making so much noise. She calls it 'singing'. I call it a bag of cats going through a wood chipper."

Billie suppressed a grimace at the thought of innocent cats suffering such a cruel fate. "Did you threaten to cut off her head?"

"Of course not! Trust me, I've never hurt anyone. Either with that thing or any other thing. I've had it for years. I still like to do stuff the old way. I swear, I was minding my own business until she deliberately began squawking. If she told you that's what I said, then she's lying."

"She swore on her dead mother's grave."

"That's if her mother is even dead!" Braddock closed his eyes and waved his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. That was a cruel thing to say."

"It's all right," said Billie, gently. "You've got enough to deal with. Look, I'm not a mean reporter and I'm not here to pressure anyone. Just tell me what I need to know, and then we'll be gone."

"Thank you," said Braddock. "I appreciate that."

Animal took some photos of George holding the hatchet, then Braddock replaced it on the shelf. After that, they went back to the living room. Billie flipped the pages of her notebook. "I don't know what to make of all this," she admitted. "Ms. Granger sounded terrified on the phone. Even if you meant no harm, _she_ didn't see it that way."

"Ms. Granger is a lonely woman, and loneliness makes people exaggerate things," said Braddock. "She rarely, if ever, has visitors. There _was_ a man, about five years ago. I don't know what happened there, but ever since then, she's been all by herself with only her dog for company. If you ask me, I think she craves the attention. Or she really has deluded herself into thinking I want to kill her. In which case, she has psychological problems and needs help."

"You're suggesting she called the police purely for the attention?"

"Any is better than none," said Braddock. "Miss Newman, I gotta make this clear, I shook the hatchet the way you'd shake a fist. Like this." He shook his fist in an overblown, cartoon-like manner. "You can't mistake _that_ for a legitimate threat."

"Unless you're Bugs Bunny," said Animal helpfully.

Braddock cast him a weary glance. "It's certainly nothing to get the police involved with, let alone the newspapers. What's my poor wife going to think? It'll make her even sicker."

Billie's pencil flew across the pages of her notebook. "And you've never thrown any trash bags? Please Mr. Braddock, be honest. I'm not here to judge."

"Never. My guess is, the dog tore open _her_ bags. Poor fella, he's as soft as butter and no use as a guard dog. That's another thing- that sweet old mutt likes me. He comes over to the fence, wagging his tail. I think she despises me for it. I think she despises me for having a family. Maybe she's just nuts. She doesn't care that my wife is sick, my kids are grown and I'm scared I'll end up alone. If anyone has a vendetta, it's her. I wish you could find out why she's doing this."

Officer Dunne walked up to the house and tapped politely on the window. Braddock went to the front door and cautiously opened it.

"Mr. Braddock, Ms. Granger's decided not to press charges. We've spoken to both of you- you've accepted a caution and there doesn't seem to be anything more to investigate. Before we leave, is there anything you think you may have overlooked?"

Braddock shook his head. "No, officer. Except... I think she needs help. You know, like a shrink or something. I don't want to be accused of attempted murder every single time I leave the house."

Officer Dunne nodded. "If there's another incident like this one, we'll see if she'll agree to a non-intrusive psychiatric evaluation. Right now she just wants everyone gone."

"You think I need evaluating too?"

The officer smiled. "Like I said, if there's another incident, we'll take it from there."

Billie stepped forward. "I'd like to help, too. I know I'm a reporter, but that doesn't mean I can't offer support. I'd also like to stay in touch with you, Mr. Braddock. On the record, off the record, it's entirely up to you. I'm really very sorry that your wife is so ill, and I know you don't need the added stress."

Braddock grinned, showing clean white teeth. "Sure. I'd welcome it. My eldest son comes over at weekends but other times I do get a little down. You're a nice, friendly girl, I know you won't make me out to be the bad guy."

"Okay, folks. If that's all there is, we'd better get back to the station." Officer Dunne caught Billie's eye and touched the peak of his cap. He strode down the path and was joined by Officer Nolan and the cops from the other unit. Billie closed her notebook and put it back in her purse. Animal took some photos of George Braddock smiling like a kindly old man who wouldn't hurt a fly. They said their goodbyes and waited outside for the black and whites to clear the driveway. The sun was warm and the air smelled of tarmac.

"Let's talk to some neighbors," said Billie, looking along the street with narrowed eyes.

Animal sighed. "No witnesses, remember?"

"That's according to the police. But people tell reporters things they wouldn't tell the authorities. Juicy stuff, you know?" She nudged the photographer devilishly.

Animal threw her a disapproving glance."You're getting as bad as Rossi. What happened to 'I'm not here to judge'?"

"I know, but I can't go back empty handed. We'll just ask if anyone heard or saw anything." She patted Animal's arm, amused by his look of chagrin. "Don't worry, we'll be back at the Trib in time for lunch."

As if on cue, Animal's stomach rumbled loudly. "You had to mention lunch. Wee-eell, okay- you're the boss."

"Great. Come on." Billie began hurrying towards a small group of people before they disappeared into their houses. Animal loped after her, shaking his shaggy head.

"I was talking to my stomach," he muttered, to no one in particular.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"So? What happened? How bad was it?" Rossi perched on the edge of Billie's desk, looming over her in anticipation. Billie tried to push him off but he refused to budge.

"Nothing happened, Rossi. Stop crowding me." She reached out to steady her pencil holder.

" _Nothing_?"

"Well, it wasn't the Hatfields and McCoys wild west brawl we were expecting. It's her word against his. No one saw or heard anything."

"Are you sure you're not holding back on me?" Rossi leaned forward again, trying to peer over her shoulder.

"Are you going to pester me until I tell you?" The look on Rossi's face told her he would. "Okay. He was using a small hatchet to cut trees in his own back yard. Said he brandished it in a non threatening manner. Like this." Billie pulled an exaggerated angry face and demonstrated the gesture, shaking her fist in Rossi's face.

Rossi grinned. "Did he say, ' _why youuu'_?"

"I wish. At least it would have given the story a humorous angle." Billie flipped through her notes, sighed again. She put down her notepad and ruffled the back of her hair. "I really don't have much in the way of actual facts. I spoke to some of the neighbors, thinking it would help. Guess what one of them said? "Pay me enough and I'll tell you anything." Another one thinks that if they're fighting then they must be having an affair. It's all presumption and I can't put any of it into my report."

"You can dig a little deeper though, right?"

"I could, but this isn't corruption in high places. It's two lonely people out in the 'burbs who've taken a dislike to each other, for reasons unknown."

"Billie, it's your job to make them known."

"I know, Rossi. I know. It just leaves a bad taste, that's all."

Rossi was completely unmoved by her concern. "I'm very disappointed in you, Billie. How could you turn 'axe wielding maniac' into a complete non-story?" He hopped off the desk as though it had suddenly caught fire and was burning his pants.

"Thanks for the understanding. I don't suppose anything like this ever bothers you."

Rossi returned to his own desk and sat down. "What did Lou say?"

"He was just relieved that no one died. Which is the reaction of a normal person."

"But we're _not_ normal people. We're reporters."

"Speak for yourself." Billie cut him off as he was about to reply. "About being normal, I mean." She pulled her chair forward and began to type. "This is going to take two minutes," she said over the rapid clicking of the keys. "' _A Los Feliz man has been cautioned by police for allegedly threatening his neighbor with a garden tool. George Braddock, 62, claims JoBeth Granger, 35, was causing a disturbance. Ms. Granger claims she was just singing along to the radio. Both parties were interviewed but the police found no evidence to suggest Mr. Braddock actually intended to harm Ms. Granger._ '"

"You're not gonna mention threats to kill with a hatchet?"

"Rossi, his wife is seriously ill with cancer."

"That's very sad, but you don't owe him anything. C'mon, Billie. Write 'hatchet'. 'Garden tool' sounds stupid."

Billie frowned tightly. She pushed the carriage over, dabbed Liquid Paper over 'garden tool' and pounded the word 'hatchet' deep into the paper. "HATCHET," she declared, pointedly. She yanked the copy out of the typewriter, pushed back her chair and stood up. "I need a fresh assignment. Something that'll take my mind off this one."

"Sure. You need something easy, like a cat stuck in a tree."

Billie rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. "Rossi, do you wake up every morning and decide to be a jerk, or does it just come naturally?"

"Hey. At least I come back with stories."

"I came back with a story. It just happened to be a very small one, that's all." She spun on her heel and walked over to Lou's desk to give him her summary.

"Why the long face?" asked Lou as she approached.

Donovan interrupted. "No, Lou, it goes like this- 'A horse walks into a bar, and the bartender says-'"

""Get out, you're a horse"," said Lou, curtly. Donovan smirked and returned to what he was doing. "What's the matter, Billie?" Lou asked, his cynical expression softening.

"Rossi's being a jerk," she pouted. "He's upset because no one was hacked to death, and because I didn't torture anyone to get a confession."

"Tell you the truth," said Donovan, "we're kind of disappointed too. 'Woman Sings Too Loudly' doesn't make for good copy."

Billie ignored Art. She handed Lou the sheet of paper and watched him as he read it with a marked lack of excitement.

"This it?" the city editor asked, looking up.

"Well, yes. For now. Until further notice."

"I suppose it's _only just_ better than nothing. Gotta say though, Billie. We really thought this was going to be a big one."

"I'd like another assignment," Billie said, as assertively as she could. Lou raised an eyebrow but allowed her to continue. "It's a big city. There must be something going on out there that's a little more imminently newsworthy."

Lou closed his eyes and nodded. "All right, Billie. I'll find you something with a bit more pizzazz."

"A bit more pizzazz than an axe murderer?" said Donovan, raising both eyebrows.

"Once again, for those at the back. There was no axe and _no murderer_." Billie folded her arms and gave Donovan a stern look.

Lou and Donovan began searching through papers on their desk. Reporters came and went, handing in summaries and collecting briefs. The minutes ticked by, with Billie feeling more and more invisible by the second. Lou's telephone rang and he answered it gruffly.

"City desk." A pause, during which Lou's face turned grim. "What? How bad? I see. Whereabouts in Beverly Hills?" He looked up to gauge the expression on Billie's face. "Okay, we'll send someone out there immediately."

Billie tried hard not to look too excited. Lou put the phone down and gave her his full attention at last.

"Traffic accident on Rodeo Drive. Think you can handle it?"

"Do I think I can handle it? You bet I can!" Billie raced back to her desk in a whirlwind of excitement.

Rossi watched her grab her things in a hurry. "What bit you all of a sudden?"

"Traffic accident in Beverly Hills," Billie stated triumphantly, her eyes gleaming. "You watch me come back with a story." She picked up her purse and hightailed it towards the exit.

"I sure hope _no one's dead_ ," Rossi yelled after her, but she was already out of earshot.

Lou strolled over to Rossi's desk, standing with his hands in his pockets.

"How bad's this traffic accident?" the young reporter asked.

"Oh, not too bad. A taxicab ran a light and shunted into the back of a limo. The fact that it's on Rodeo Drive is what makes it newsworthy."

"Right. There might even be a celebrity involved."

"We can only hope."

Rossi turned back to his typewriter. A moment later, the phone on Billie's desk began to ring. Rossi and Lou looked at the phone, and then at each other. Lou reached over and plucked the receiver from its cradle.

"Billie Newman. Deputy? No, no... this is her editor. Who's this? Ms. Granger?" Lou fell silent. The voice on the end of the phone was so shrill that Rossi, staring at Lou with wide eyes, could almost make out every word. "Ms. Granger, calm down, please. Try to speak more slowly. You what? No, no that really isn't a good idea. No, you definitely don't want to do that." He muffled the mouthpiece with his hand and motioned Rossi out of his chair. Rossi was up and pulling on his jacket by the time the call ended.

"Jesus, Rossi. She's out of her mind. She says if the police aren't going to do anything then she's going to take care of things herself. Get Animal and go over there, right now. I'll call the police and tell them it's an emergency."

"Sure thing, Lou. What are you going to tell Billie about me hijacking her story?"

"Whatever I have to say to stop her from killing me. And don't look so happy about it!"

Rossi winked. "Crazy women, huh. There's a lot of them around."

"Get out of here, Rossi. Burn rubber to get there if you have to."

Rossi didn't need to be told twice. He raced to the exit, almost bowling people over. The doors banged as he hurtled through them to the elevator.

oOoOoOo

Billie cradled the telephone receiver against her shoulder while she scribbled frantically in her notepad. City noise clamored in her ears, car horns and police sirens. She huddled closer into the phone booth so she could hear Lou on the other end. A man showed up, motioning that he needed to use the phone. She waved him away and turned her back. "Lou, listen to this. There were two people in the back of the limousine- married television actress Lindsay Faraday, and a young man who is _not_ her husband. They refused to be interviewed. 'No comment' from both of them. The car's pretty damaged, the driver suffered whiplash- the paramedics are treating him now." The man who needed the phone rapped loudly on the glass. She glared at him. "Don't do that!"

"Don't do what?" asked Lou.

"No Lou, not you. Someone's bugging me to use the phone. Anyway, you need to send Animal out here."

"Animal's on an assignment. I'll send you someone else. Anyone else injured?"

"Not badly, but no one's going anywhere for a while. The place is crawling with cops and reporters, not to mention rubberneckers." Billie hopped up and down, impatient to get back to the action. "Rossi's gonna wish he had this assignment," she said, gleefully. "Everyone loves a Hollywood scandal."

"Yeah, well... Rossi has his hands full right now." There was another of Lou's pregnant pauses. "Er.. you know that other story you were working on, Billie?"

Billie felt a sudden sinking sensation, despite the commotion outside. "What- the neighborhood dispute?"

"Yeah- THAT one. Well, your friend Ms. Granger went loco again. I had to send Rossi out there. With Animal, since he's been there before. I had no other choice."

Billie's voice rose, in tone and decibel. " _No other choice_?! Why _Rossi_? Of all people...!"

"Calm down, Billie. If it makes you feel better, I sent him because no one would miss him if he was gone." Lou chuckled at his own joke, but Billie wasn't amused.

"We need to talk about this when I get back," she grumbled. "Meanwhile, you've just given me the incentive to get as much dirt on this actress as I can!"

"That's the spirit, Billie. Stay with that attitude. I knew all along you had the fight in you."

"Ooh, I'll get you for this, Lou. That's a promise!" Billie slammed the receiver into its cradle, earning her a barrage of abuse from the impatient man.

"You wanna break the phone so nobody else can use it? You're not the only person in the world, lady!"

"Neither are you," she retorted, pushing past him as he entered the booth. It wasn't much of a comeback but she had bigger fish to fry- and now that Rossi was on her story, she had the right amount of fire to burn them to a crisp.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Rossi and Animal arrived at the same time as the police. They pulled up hard behind the second unit and scrambled out of Rossi's car. Three of the cops were already half way across the street, pushing past a crowd of jeering onlookers. Animal whistled softly before firing off half a dozen photos. "What the hell is she doing?" he murmured.

"Going crazy, that's what." Rossi grabbed Animal's sleeve and forcibly pulled him across the road.

JoBeth Granger, her hair loose and wild and with no shoes on her feet, was running back and forth over George Braddock's lawn, swinging a baseball bat. She had already smashed up his garden ornaments and decapitated his rose bushes. She had destroyed his porch lights and knocked his mailbox over, then hammered it flat on the sidewalk. Meanwhile George Braddock stared out in fear and disbelief. He was pale, trapped in the house like a ghost pressed against the glass.

Rossi interrupted a bushy haired young man in head to toe denim who was laughing with his friend. "Hey buddy, I'm from the Tribune. Any idea what started this?"

"Who knows? Chick just came out of nowhere and started whacking things." The guy cheered as JoBeth hit a garden gnome like a pro golfer, exploding it into tiny pieces. Rossi filled his book with hastily scribbled notes and turned the page over.

"You know either of these two people?" He indicated JoBeth and George Braddock with his pencil.

"Vaguely. same way you kinda vaguely know people who live on the same street as you."

"You seen any trouble like this before?"

"Not like this. One time I saw them arguing. She had a problem with him mowing the lawn on a Sunday morning." He shrugged one skinny, denim clad shoulder. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Why? You guys heard differently?" He craned his neck to look at Rossi's notes.

"We had reports of a long running dispute. That's why I asked if you'd seen anything like this before." Rossi tilted his notepad away from the man's prying eyes.

"Sorry, man. Wish I could help, but... " The guy tapped Rossi on the arm. "Hey, look! The pigs are going in!"

Rossi returned his attention to the proceedings on the lawn, raising his eyebrows at the word 'pigs'.

The cops fanned out around the lawn's perimeter. "Put the bat down and get on the floor!"

JoBeth raised her bat and stood with feet planted apart. "Come any closer and I'll kill you all!"

"Don't be foolish, Ms. Granger! Just do as I say and no one will get hurt!"

"No! You do as _I_ say, and no one will get hurt!"

Rossi scribbled frantically in his notepad. "As long as I don't get hurt," he muttered.

One of the cops tried to rush JoBeth, but jumped back when the bat swung towards him.

"You never took me seriously," she shouted. "All those times I complained about _his_ trash and _his_ threats. But now it's me doing the attacking, you turn up like rats out of a drain." She laughed contemptuously. "Typical men, always looking after your own."

Rossi shouted across the lawn, "Miss Granger, I'm Joe Rossi from the Tribune. You called _us_ , remember?"

JoBeth eyed Rossi with suspicion. "I called the girl! Where's the girl?"

"The _girl_ had other things to do. In fact, _I_ had other things to do. I'm sure the cops have other things to do, and that poor guy stuck in his house has other things to do. What exactly is your problem, lady?"

"My problem," JoBeth yelled, "is that smug, arrogant _asshole_ in there!" She jabbed the bat in Braddock's direction. He visibly winced, even though there was a pane of glass and a wall between them. "He thinks he's a cut above everyone else. His stupid house and his stupid trees and his stupid car and stupid... " she looked around for something to hit, finally settling on the house number attached to the brickwork. "Stupid numbers!" The bat struck the metal numbers over and over again, chipping off flecks of paint, bending the '2' out of shape and turning the '8' into a '3'.

Animal took photo after photo. "Billie's gonna hate that she missed this," he drawled as flying bits of metal zinged through the air.

"Hey- she had a hatchet. I just get a run-of-the-mill baseball bat."

JoBeth suddenly turned and lunged at Rossi and Animal, taking them by surprise. "I'm gonna bust that stupid camera, _and_ your head!" she screamed at Animal.

"Oh Jesus, I'm outta here." Animal turned and fled across JoBeth's front lawn. JoBeth started after him, then noticed Rossi staring at her.

"And _you_ can stick your story right up your ass!" She swung the bat, smacking the pencil and notebook clean out of his hands. The reporter cried out in pain and bent over, clasping his hands between his knees.

"Dammit! I think you just broke my fingers!"

"You're lucky that's all I broke," she spat, before resuming her pursuit of Animal.

The cops seized their chance. Cheered on by the neighbors, they raced past the anguished Rossi and caught up with JoBeth two houses down. They brought her to the ground with a flying tackle and sat on her. His enemy vanquished, Animal whirled back around and started taking photos. JoBeth, sprawled helplessly on the grass under the weight of three cops. She screamed and yelled and tried to kick them off, but despite her valiant efforts, she was soon overwhelmed. The bat was wrenched from her hands, and a pair of cuffs snapped on her wrists. A triumphant cry went up from the crowd and the air was punctuated with shouts of _all riiiight!_ and _lock that crazy bitch up!_

Rossi, retrieving his notebook from some nearby shrubbery, noticed that JoBeth's front door, which looked shut, was actually open. He pocketed his notebook, looked around to ensure everyone else was otherwise occupied, then darted for the door and eased his way into the house. He pushed the door back to its original position so that nobody could accuse him of breaking in, then turned around, hoping nobody was there to confront him. He stood motionless in the hallway, taking in the wilting plants, the generic framed landscapes and the dusty table covered with unopened mail, complete with Animal's fingermarks from earlier in the day. He glanced up the stairs, pulling a face as he breathed the fusty air. "Even my apartment is nicer than this," he muttered.

He leafed through the unpaid bills. Some of them were Final Reminders. None of them had been paid. Perhaps money worries had tipped Granger over the edge. A sharp pain jabbed through his hand, making him catch his breath. He held up his hand and examined it. The fleshy pad of his outer palm had taken the brunt of the blow, but his pinky and ring finger were swollen and his knuckles had turned blue. There was a little mobility there, and he wasn't sure whether anything was actually broken, but he was royally pissed off. Rossi was left handed. His left hand was injured. He was going to make damn sure the Trib paid every penny of his medical treatment.

He pushed open the living room door with his elbow and peered in. It was quiet and still, as if nobody had been in there for a while. He did the same with every room on the ground floor. There was clutter, and dust, and a sense that no one actually lived there. The only room that felt alive was the kitchen, which smelled of toast and had a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

Rossi went to the counter and looked out of the window. There were trash bags all right- a huge pile of them. Some were open, spilling their contents across the yard. In front of the trash pile was an old mongrel dog, wagging its tail over an empty food bowl. "Damn," he muttered. He could hear the commotion down the street and knew it wouldn't be long before cops came to the house- but that dog sure looked hungry. Rossi hated animal abuse. He had a dog of his own and loved it like it were his own child.

He looked around until he found a bag of kibble stashed inside a dirty cupboard. He unlocked the back door, went out into the yard and poured some into the bowl. Rossi petted the dog while it ate, promising that he'd make sure it wasn't forgotten about. Then he returned to the house and put the kibble back in the cupboard. He exited the kitchen, still thinking about the dog, and almost had a heart attack when he discovered Animal standing in the hallway, his head almost touching the light fixture.

"There you are!" exclaimed the lanky photographer. "I've been looking all over for you. They're taking JoBeth down to the station. Couple of the guys are with Mr. Braddock. I saw the door was open, and I... "

"Yeah, same here," said Rossi, catching his breath. Then held up his swollen hand. "This is gonna cost Mrs. Pynchon a few bucks."

"Ouch," said Animal, and took a photo of it.

"I just fed the dog and now I'm going upstairs. You coming?"

"Talk about making yourself at home," Animal murmured, glancing into the kitchen. "Wanna put some coffee on too?"

"After we've looked upstairs." Rossi leaned over the banister. "Come on. The cops'll be here any minute."

Rossi began to ascend the staircase, sliding his good hand lightly up the rail. "Anyone there?" he called, not really expecting an answer. Animal followed close behind, whistling the Twilight Zone theme tune. "Don't do that, it's creepy," the reporter complained.

"This whole house is creepy," said Animal as they reached the landing, which was even gloomier and mustier than the hallway below it. "Smells like the Mummy's Tomb up here."

Rossi indicated the rooms at the back of the house. "You go that way, I'll go this way."

Animal grimaced. "First I need to check the bathroom."

"Why?"

"I just ate lunch, and... well..." Animal grinned sheepishly.

Rossi looked at him in disgust. "You're sick, Animal. You know that? Sick."

"Not sick, just full." Animal ambled down the hall, looking for the bathroom.

"Don't let the cops find you sitting on the can," Rossi warned, heading towards the front of the house.

The first door was the guest bedroom, filled with storage bins, piles of boxes, and various items of furniture. Books and magazines covered the single bed. Rossi jotted down some notes, wincing at the pain in his fingers, and closed the door. The second room was the master bedroom, the room where JoBeth evidently spent most of her time. The air smelled thick and stale and the curtains were closed, making the room dim. The unmade double bed was littered with more books and magazines. There was a TV set in the corner of the room by the window, with a stack of plates on top, and a dirty coffee cup on top of those. There were rumpled clothes piled haphazardly on a chair, and a giant stuffed teddy bear slumped over on the floor, as though it had once sat in the chair but had been dislodged by the weight of all the clothes.

Rossi felt a strange wave of sadness wash over him. He didn't know why, and he tried to quash the feeling. Maybe it was because the room felt lonely. Oppressively and unequivocally lonely.

Animal came silently up behind him and made him jump. At the same time, they heard someone knock on the front door, then a loud voice downstairs in the hallway.

"Anyone in here? It's the police!" More footsteps followed as the cop came to the foot of the staircase. "Hello? Anyone up there?"

Animal and Rossi exchanged a glance. "We better confess," Animal whispered. "I mean, they're gonna find us anyway."

Rossi nodded. "Up here," he called, going to the end of the landing. "We're the guys from the Trib. The door was open."

The officer began climbing the stairs, his face grim. "You shouldn't be in here," he scolded.

"It's not breaking and entering."

"It's trespassing."

"Okay, we'll take the rap."

"You newspaper guys just make up your own rules as you go along," the cop grunted.

"Hey, guys, check this out," said Animal, peering around the master bedroom door. Rossi and the cop went to the bedroom to see what Animal had discovered.

On the bedside table, hidden under an old nightgown which Animal had removed, was a skull. "Looks like she was into Halloween," he said, lifting the skull off the table. "Alas poor Yorick," he joked, earning a stern look from the officer.

"Let's get some light in here," barked the cop. "Take a look at that thing."

Rossi went over to the window and opened the curtains to let natural sunlight into the room. As the skull became clearly visible, Animal noticed the brown discoloration, the dark, suspicious looking blotches and the stained and crooked yellow teeth, several of which appeared to have fillings. In stark contrast, he felt the blood drain from his face, turning it ghostly white and very, very cold.

"Holy shit!" he yelled, throwing the skull out of his hand. "It's _real!_ "

The skull arced through the air and landed on the carpet with a thump, rolling over to settle at Rossi's feet. The reporter's mouth went dry as he stared helplessly down at the skull's blank eyed, rictus grin. Animal wiped his hands frantically on his jeans before grabbing his camera and snapping the skull in all its illuminated glory while Rossi stood rooted to the spot.

"Get this thing away from me," he whimpered.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know! Just do it, Animal! This thing is freaking me out!"

Animal nudged the skull gingerly with the edge of his dirty sneaker. It rolled slowly to one side and then back again, seeming to stare even harder at Rossi. The reporter closed his eyes and put the tip of his shoe under the lower mandible, then took a deep breath and kicked it. Animal lunged forward and put his foot out to stop it from rolling away under the bed.

"Will you two quit playing soccer with someone's head?" The cop, looking decidedly nauseous, unhooked his two-way radio with a trembling hand and spoke into it. "Greg, get your butt up here, now! There's something I think you need to see!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

" _This_ is what you call a story." Rossi hovered like a hawk behind Lou, who was typing out the story for him. "I don't know how Billie missed a decapitated head."

Lou glanced over at Billie's empty desk. The young rookie was on her way back to the Trib and Lou didn't relish filling her in on Rossi's discovery. The only thing he could do was try to take a little bit of wind out of Rossi's sails to stop him gloating too hard on Billie's return.

" _Billie_ didn't go trespassing, like you and Animal did."

"Lou. The door was open, anyone could have gotten in. What's more, they could have ransacked the place, which I didn't. I even fed the dog."

"Congratulations. Would you walk straight into my house if the door was open?"

"Depends whether you were home or not. C'mon, Lou, keep typing."

"You're saying you'd walk in if I wasn't home?"

"If you were stupid enough to leave your door open." Rossi grinned at Lou's dour expression. "Lou, your star reporter is out of action. Let's have a little sympathy here."

"Gee, today of all days I left my violin at home." Lou smiled wryly. "Okay, Rossi, let's keep going."

Rossi carried on dictating and hovering, pointing out small typos and telling Lou how to form sentences. Right at the moment that Lou almost broke the reporter's other hand as it jabbed over his shoulder, Billie returned. The editor breathed out a sigh of relief. Now he had someone else to talk to besides a hyperactive pitbull terrier.

"Hey, guys," she said absently, throwing her bag down onto her desk.

"Hey, Billie," said Lou and Rossi together.

Billie did a double take, puzzled by the fact that Lou was sitting at Rossi's desk. "Wait. Why are you... what's going on?"

Rossi thrust his injured hand in Billie's face. "Look what your friend did."

Billie recoiled in disgust before Rossi's swollen fingers made contact with her nose. "What friend?"

"You know. JoBeth 'everyone's crazy but me, and by the way, I keep someone's head by my bed' Granger. _That_ friend."

Billie pushed Rossi's hand away, ignoring his yelp of pain. She stared helplessly at Lou. "Lou, what is he talking about?"

Lou sat back with his arms folded. "He's talking about something that he and the Animal found in JoBeth's bedroom."

Billie gaped in astonishment. "Rossi, what were you doing in JoBeth's bedroom?"

"Trespassing," barked Lou.

Billie glared meaningfully at Rossi. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Relax, Newman. We're covered. As far as everyone's concerned, the cops found it while they were scoping the house before locking it up and we just happened to be there." Rossi turned to Lou. "I can't wait to see the photos!"

Billie held up her hands. "All right. Go back to the beginning. This was my story, I think I have a right to know what's going on."

"There was a human skull in Miss Granger's bedroom," said Rossi bluntly. "It was sitting beside her bed with her stuffed toy collection."

Billie felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh my God. What about George Braddock? Is he all right?"

"George Braddock is alive and well, if a little shaken."

Billie riffled quickly through her notes. "Mr. Braddock mentioned she was seeing someone five years ago but he didn't know what happened to him. Rossi, do you think it could be his skull?"

Rossi nodded. "It's possible. What we _do_ know is that she's a violent woman. She threatened to kill the police, she smashed up Braddock's garden, almost broke my hand and chased Animal down the street. When they finally caught up with her, it took three cops sitting on top of her to get the cuffs on. They charged her with affray and took her downtown. Somebody had to go in and close up the house, make sure it was empty. It's not like we had to search for the skull, it was right there. Animal saw it first, we thought it was fake, a Halloween toy. Turns out it was a little more than just a toy."

"I don't understand," said Billie, shuddering. "Why would she want to draw attention to herself if she had a skull in her bedroom?"

"I guess she wasn't expecting anyone to go up there." Lou consulted Rossi's notes and carried on typing.

Rossi shrugged. "Maybe the guilt drove her crazy. Maybe she wanted to get caught. Maybe she wanted to kill again. Who knows?"

"Calm down, Sherlock Holmes," said Lou, "for all we know, the owner of the skull may have died of natural causes."

"Right," said Rossi. "And she just wanted his head as a souvenir. A nice little reminder of all the times they spent together."

Billie bit her lip. "What about the rest of the body?"

"We don't know, but I got someone at the cophouse who's gonna phone us as soon as they get something out of her. Oh, by the way. Greg says hello." Rossi gave Billie a cheeky wink.

"Greg?"

"Sure. Greg the cop. Seems like you two had a little chat this morning. You said you'd use his quote about small stuff turning into big stuff. I think he likes you."

"Oh, _that_ Greg." Billie wracked her brain but could barely remember what the guy looked like. She changed the subject before Rossi got his teeth into her private life. "So JoBeth hasn't actually been charged with murder?"

"No," said Lou. "She's been charged with unlawful possession of human remains, public disorder, and criminal damage. We can't put that she killed anyone until we know for sure."

"Don't forget GBH," said Rossi, holding up his hand. "Hairline fracture of the metacarpal."

Billie looked at Lou in dismay. "I can't believe it. That was _my_ story. It should have been my scoop."

"You didn't want it," Rossi told her nonchalantly.

"No, I _wanted_ it, I just put it on the back burner because nothing was happening. Geez, if I'd known there were _body parts_ in the house..."

"Yeah, well, we didn't know either. We were just trying to find clues to why she went crazy. House was like a mausoleum, full of dust and cobwebs. If you ask me, she was a very lonely person who spent a lot of time by herself, and that can do strange things to the mind."

"You should know," Billie fixed Rossi with an accusatory stare.

"Speak for yourself, Newman. I have a dog."

"So did JoBeth. Besides, a dog is about the only thing that could stand to live with you."

"You're a real charmer. Here I am, trying to help..."

"Help? All you've done is rub my nose in my 'failure' to get a good story. That's all you ever do, day in and day out!"

Rossi's jaw dropped. "Now, wait a minute-! "

Lou interjected at last, employing his best tone of authority. "Can it, both of you! You're acting like kids. Billie. Tell me what you've got and let's get back to work."

Billie flipped through the pages of her notebook. "Besides the traffic accident, in which fortunately no one was hurt too badly, I've got an affair between a soap star and her pool boy. Seems kind of a let down after what Rossi got."

"You sure about this affair?" said Lou.

"I got a very firm 'no comment' from both occupants of the car, and threats to sue if we imply they were together. The official line is, they were on their way to an audition."

"Together," said Rossi.

"Yes. Together." Billie allowed herself a smile.

"So who's the actress?" asked Lou. "Anyone I've heard of?"

"Her name is Lindsay Faraday. She's in something called... "

"' _Birds of Paradise_ '," Rossi finished. "My sister loves that show! Wait until she hears about this. Good job, Billie!"

"Not as printworthy as a human skull," she replied, woefully. "If only I'd been as ruthless as you and gone snooping without permission."

"You mean like trying to find out if two people are having an affair?" Rossi said, assuming a confrontational stance.

"Look, this isn't a contest to see who can write the most sensational story," said Lou. "You know what Mrs. Pynchon will say. We're not the National Enquirer. We print _facts_."

"And you know what Mark Twain said? 'Never let the truth get in the way of a good story'. I'm kidding," said Rossi, on receiving a stern glare from the editor.

Amid the constant sound of telephones ringing, none of them heard Lou's phone ring back at his desk. It wasn't until Donovan appeared at Billie's shoulder that they all realized something was up. The assistant editor's face was grimly serious- not an expression they saw very often.

"Spit it out, Art," grumbled Lou.

Art leaned one hand on the back of Billie's chair behind her shoulder. "The cop house just called. JoBeth Granger just confessed to murder."

* * *

 _ **Author's note** :- I've neglected this story for too long. Apologies to the one and a half people who have been reading it. Idc how small my readership is, I am going to goshdarned well finish my storeez!_


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